Greatest Wonder
by kathryn-hs
Summary: A companion reflects on the enigma that is the Tenth Doctor. Chapter Three up: Farewell to a living star.
1. Chapter 1

A.N. This is a series of short fics about the Tenth Doctor, from the POV of his companion. This companion isn't Rose or Martha, sorry. Just someone of my own invention to look through the eyes of. I don't know how long or short this will be, I'll update when the muses move me. Please don't hesitate to give constructive criticism if you think there's something I should be doing better, I'm always looking to improve.

Part One:

I travel with him. I don't know why he chose me, but I'm grateful. With him, I've seen a sun breathe it's last, a mountain speak. I've seen a living rock bleed dry, giving it's life-force to save a civilization. By his side, I've faced _things_ that defy description, and I've helped to save my species. But the greatest wonder of all remains beyond my understanding. Him.

Who is this mysterious _him_, you may ask? Well, the easy answer is this; He's the Doctor. That's the name he chose. "Just-The Doctor," He is fond of saying, tossing off a nonchalant smile before turning, coattails flapping, to save the world again.

No matter how much he is pressed, that's all he'll really say. The Doctor. Somehow, this simple title fits him like a glove.

He has the power of life or death over us all, but we don't know it. The Doctor doesn't look for recognition and medals, he just does what has to be done. He is precise, meticulous, and ever wary. He has to be. If he isn't, if he slips up, miscalculates even a bit, death is the result. True, his methods seem off-hand, even dangerously casual, but it comes from the familiarity of long practice.

His knowledge is great, but considering he has lived over nine hundred years, it isn't surprising he knows so much. What is endlessly surprising is that he cares about the human race, despite our many flaws.

A doctor is a healer. The Doctor makes people better, though not in the everyday sense. The people he meets are forever changed. 'The act of observing changes the observed' is a true statement. Even those to whom he makes it clear he holds in contempt are changed, fearful of what he sees in them.

And for those rare few he inexplicably deems worthy to travel with him in his TARDIS? We become different people, old lives burned away. He shows us a new way of living, one based off bravery, tenacity, quick thinking, and just a dash of simple luck.

The traveler takes us along for the ride to fend off loneliness, to share the wonder and horror with someone else. Yet he keeps a certain distance, knowing that eventually, we will leave him. This distance makes it hard to know him. I have come to accept it. I think the Doctor is grateful I don't try to press the boundaries between us, and somehow both of us knowing the limits of our relationship lets us become very close. He tells me about his life sometimes, about Gallifrey and the Time War. I listen as he shows me marvels, and I count myself lucky.

But the most important thing the Doctor shows us is that one simple person, at the right place and time, truly can change the world. All you have to do is believe, and try.

A.N.2 Also, I'm happy to take requests! If there's an aspect of the Doctor's character you'd like me to explore, don't hesitate to mention it, and I'll see what I can do for you!


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. Thanks to my reviewers, and no, I most certainly don't own it.

A smile is worth a million words, and the Doctor's is no exception. So much can be told from a quirk of his lips; whether he is happy, sad, angry, thoughtful, or reminiscing on times past. Even the absence of a smile lighting his face speaks volumes to someone who has learned to read his face. His full lips are always expressive.

He has a self-satisfied smile, just barely a smirk, which runs across his face when he does something particularly clever. Preening slightly like some enormous sparrow in his brown suit, the Doctor glances sideways at me to see if I, too, am as impressed as he is. I am of course, and I make my appreciation known. A large ego isn't really a bad thing in this case. He really _is_ as good as he thinks he is, and after all he has done and the tragedies he's been through, his ego deserves stroking on occasion.

That's not to say I let things get too out of hand. If he gets too carried away, I gently deflate his swelled head just a bit. I am careful, but an admonishing comment here and there serve to keep things in line. Over-confidence, especially for him, is dangerous.

At these times, his smile changes to a more self-deprecating, rueful grin. We don't speak of it, but he knows what I am doing perfectly well.

When I help him in some way, the content Watson to his Sherlock, his smile says _Thank You_. He is never patronizing, never impatient at my slow mind trying to grasp the impossibilities he thrives on, but when I do understand, when I do something that is right, or helps in his quest to save the world, one more time…He is grateful.

If someone he met and came to care for at all dies, he still smiles. But it is a twisted, warped smile then, a disbelieving, silent scream. _Unfair!_ It shouts to the world. _Why them…Why always them and never me!_ But he knows that fairness has never been an issue in his lifetimes, and only increases his bitterness.

There are rare times when something happens that is so monstrous it wipes all expression off his face. There is a terrible fury, but it is so contained that it is more a _feeling_ than something more tangible.

There are times when the Doctor abandons his sophisticated veneer of eclectic kindness, and reveals a different side, and it is at those times when he is the most frightening.

He doesn't usually raise his voice much, but the way he speaks changes somehow, every syllable resonating with power. The Doctor is no longer a competent, caring healer, but the bearer of destruction. He stands, a frown on his face, and anyone looking at him can see why he is called the Oncoming Storm.

One chance. When he is fighting through the ages, he allows his opponents one chance. If he spares their lives, he expects them to abide by his conditions. Should they abuse this, that is all they get. He strikes, and they don't know what hit them.

Hard, implacable, even cruel, he metes out his punishments without mercy. His expression is almost blank; remote like a statue of an avenging angel. He is like an Old Testament God, judging without discrimination and offering no clemency. The Doctor's word is final.

Then he goes back to his usual attitude, his usual warm, wry smile. A smile that makes you trust him, put your life in his hands without a thought. How could someone smiling like that be dangerous? But under the surface, something is there, waiting.

He has many more smiles, all shaded with meaning, hard to decipher, harder to appreciate. Many times when he gifts me with a quirky, sidelong grin, I have no idea what he is thinking. And that's all right. He's not human. Despite the Doctor's earthly appearance, he is impossibly alien. My favourite smile of his is not one he reserves for me. It is the blissful, wide grin he gives to the world in those rare moments when an event happens in just the way it should, through human bravery and sacrifice. He looks around him in wonder at a future made brand-new in just that moment, at the persistent ability of our species to do great things in spite of the odds, and he is happy.


	3. Chapter 3

A.N. Thanks to NekuYasha for the great review! I was tempted to use that line after reading it :)

His eyes are ancient, memories and snippets of time hidden in their untold depths. They sometimes are sober, full of old hurts never really forgotten. When he is planning some mad scheme, a wild gleam lights them, a lust for adventure that is unfailingly contagious.

A rich, deep brown, they are expressive, passionate, distant, and unfathomably alien.

They are like stars-not in the tired, clichéd way of banal love songs, but in an intrinsic, rawer way.

The infinite, immediate, overwhelming power of a star. A fire so strong it surpasses the meaning of the word, never staying still, never resting. Its surface is, while enough to make ordinary people whisper without comprehension, only a small part of the whole. His eyes both hold the terrible, scarcely contained magnificence of a star close up, but also the imperial remoteness of a diamond gleam in the night sky.

He knows more of stars than he has told me, I think. One day (how is one to approximate a 'day' in a time machine? An hour? Even a second can be countless centuries with him), without explanation, he pulled levers, pushed buttons, and we stopped moving. The door opened onto deep space, and he went to the threshold, I following hesitantly. The TARDIS ensured that we still could breathe, and we stood there, watching silently as a carmine star slowly pulsed. It emitted a rich ruby light, streams of fire swirling and rippling slowly over its surface. It seemed…tired, defeated. As though it was ready to give up.

The Doctor breathed a long sigh, rubbing a hand absently through his permanently disheveled hair. "I'm here," He spoke softly. I gazed at him, unsure of his meaning, or even why he was speaking.

The star's automatic rhythm was thrown off. It pulsed once, twice. Tendrils of light lifted upwards, and it _looked_ at us. Up at the tiny blue box, and its keeper.

He stared unblinking into the heart of fire, and an answering flame lit his eyes, kin to the fading brilliance of the star. The Doctor jerked, and I steadied him wordlessly. He looked at me in thanks, and in his eyes was a strange emotion, and the light of the star, desperately burning bright. I kept a grip on his arm despite my alarm, and he rubbed at his face, eyes sightlessly opening and shutting. Flame blazed and died, and familiar gold-brown returned. "I can't," He muttered, though he wasn't speaking to me. "It's your time, not mine. I am with you, but I can't burn along with you. Not yet."

The star flared a scarlet reply, and he shook his head. "I am with you, that's all I can do."

The tendrils drooped, faded, coiled around themselves, holding each other in sadness. They retreated back into the star's mass. For a moment, the star glowed brighter, and I looked at the Doctor, to see a solemn, thoughtful expression.

He looked to where I sat beside him, and the ghost of his usual smile lit his face, pale imitation of the venerable splendor below. I returned it, unsure of what his history with this living star was, but captivated as to what would unfold. He took my hand, holding it in his familiar grip, warm and firm. "Now, just think!" He said in enthusiasm. "How many people can say they've seen a star at the end of its life? Something to write home about?" The Doctor raised an amused brow, his smile stronger, and infinitely amused at the openly stunned expression I knew was covering my face.

I returned his smile, and our eyes met before returning to the star below. Its glow had increased; scattering drops of deep wine light on a small misshapen lump of twisted rock. I pointed it out to the Doctor, all that remained of a planet.

It continued to pulse, until suddenly it…stopped. We watched with a painful wonder as the star stopped, edges of the sphere shivering with energy. The star exhaled, and energy spread in all directions, shining in a maelstrom of gilt and diamond stardust that seemed to go on forever.

Then the starbreath ended, and only the ashes were left, a misshapen carcass of violet dust and roiling flame.

The Doctor bowed his head, eyes faraway. He remained like that for a moment, then softly closed the door, and led me back up the ramp. Once up, the Doctor stopped, staring into a past that only he could begin to understand. A muscle twitched in his neck, and with a snap he was back to normal. He capered around the controls, smile back in place as though nothing had happened. But I knew better. Still, I said nothing. There was nothing to say. Whatever was in his past that let a star's light live in his eyes was his own secret, not mine.

"What would you say to a visit to the Himalayas? Say, the year 8,000? They have a brilliant Yeti facility there."

"What sort of a facility? I wasn't aware Yetis were more that a myth!" I asked, curiosity roused.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, beginning to work the console with a fevered energy. "Well, you see, they are! A myth, that is. Pure fakery. Well, that's not strictly true, there is something living in those mountains. Not from Earth, though."

"What…?" I began to ask, only to be cut off with a hand flapping in my direction.

"No, no, no, no, no! Don't want to spoil the surprise!"

And off we went again.


End file.
